


to meet the me of yesterday, to know where to go from here

by insectoid_demigoddess



Series: godworship [5]
Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, emu and parad deserve rewards for putting up with them, features one good nurse OC, kiriparaemu agenda adjacent but not focus, kujo kiriya is here and you Will witness him, no beta we die like god, of the Guilt makes one put oneself in harm's way variety, playing fast and loose with jpn hospital admissions processes, the focus is takatora and his wellmeaning but stupid thought processes, the wrath of god is potent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24699730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insectoid_demigoddess/pseuds/insectoid_demigoddess
Summary: he'd been distracted, is the long and short of it. the woman crying hysterically in the arms of his guard had not called him anything takatora hadn't heard before - 'murderer' is the most frequent and familiar epithet - but today the script had varied just enough.[godworship-compliant, post ex-aid another endings but disregards lazer vs genm end;the logical conclusion to a civilian taking the consequences of the helheim invasion into their own hands and takatora fulfilling his noblesse oblige (or so he thinks)]
Relationships: Kazuraba Kouta/Kureshima Takatora
Series: godworship [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728640
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i've come to hate so many things  
> and i feel as if i were a mere dirty spot  
> so i want to fly to the other side of the earth,  
> to an unmanned station,  
> to meet the me of yesterday
> 
> \- [yoake to hotaru (dawn and fireflies) / n-buna](https://vocaloidlyrics.fandom.com/wiki/%E5%A4%9C%E6%98%8E%E3%81%91%E3%81%A8%E8%9B%8D_\(Yoake_to_Hotaru\))

( _he'd been distracted, is the long and short of it. the woman crying hysterically in the arms of his guard had not called him anything he hadn't heard before - 'murderer' is the most frequent and familiar epithet - but today the script had varied just enough._ )

takatora had stopped, had turned to look even though he should have kept walking. a question held his tongue. she doesn't let him ask it: _give me back my son._

( _there was a protocol for this kind of situation; he'd gone through it before. today was the sort of day that necessitated additional security, a review of the building's floor plan, a refresher on his extraction routes. seito university hospital is less than ten minutes away, and in the same vein of convenience, a representative from the CR had asked to sit in on his presentation out of scientific curiosity._ )

takatora doesn't recognize her, this woman. but she's from zawame, and she knows him - that's enough for her to condemn him, for him to listen to her. _give me back my son._ he opens his mouth to tell his guard to stand down. 

( _his presentation on the reconstruction efforts had concluded no differently, and the minister of health had called for a break before they continued with his updates on the rogue lockseed users. the short corridor off the lobby was exactly the same as it had been earlier that morning, but as per protocol his entourage had wanted to do a quick sweep of the perimeter - he'd allowed it. barely six feet separated them, the only two occupants of the corridor._ )

she'd thrown herself onto his path already tearful, already throwing a fit. he's used to both this and the roiling disgust that curdled in his stomach at the thought of _being used to this_. he'd moved away, intent on letting his guard handle the situation. 

and then she'd yelled. 

and he'd stopped.

and then a man burst out from the front desk takatora had been headed towards, took aim, and fired.

the ringing in his ears, the burning at his arm, the instinct that maneuvers him through disarming the shooter, the rush of footsteps and the crackle of communication links, the _burning_ at his arm - all these are eclipsed by a single thought:

_which one? which one was your son?_

  
  
  


visits from other riders aren't always a happy occasion, but kouta does his best to prove that rule wrong, even when it technically shouldn't be allowed.

"takatora's the one with the meeting in the morning, i'm just a tag-along," he tells emu as they enter the CR, "so, i can hang out here for a while!"

parad takes this as his cue to start rummaging in a box marked "recreational tools", cheerfully proclaiming that he has _just_ the game for them to play. kouta looks forward to it; parad looks so genuinely excited it's easy to feel the same. he tells parad as much, and twin smiles break out on parad's and emu's faces. 

"we'll try to go easy on you--"

"that's no fun, M!"

"--so you don't object to another round."

"oh, yes, that. sportsmanship, gaim, we'll have fun."

kouta is absolutely certain they will. 

after passing on the offer of cake, he and emu sit down at the doremifa beat cabinet and pick up the match streak they'd started on kouta's first visit. it's not completely one-sided, which kouta is proud of, but genius gamers are called so for _something_ , and it demands as much concentration as an actual performance does to stand toe to toe with emu. 

thankfully, his phone and emu's game scope sit quietly within reach, and they play a few rounds in unbroken silence before kouta calls out, "found the game you wanna play yet, parad?"

"not yet, but you shouldn't get distracted while playing M," parad says, smugness curling around his words even as he continues rifling through his box. "he's ranked higher than--oh, hm."

parad doesn't elaborate, so emu and kouta continue playing. but soon after, it becomes apparent that there's something wrong - emu's hands go slack on the controls at the same time parad makes a small, choked off sound that cuts through the doremifa beat notes. kouta starts when emu suddenly stands up and stalks towards parad, following suit when he notices their mirrored expressions. 

'mirrored' isn't the best word for how the same feeling registers on emu's and parad's faces despite the different lines on both, but it's good enough to link the concerned frown emu wears and the grimace that twists parad's mouth as he squints at the far distance. 

"there's an emergency," parad says, enunciating carefully, "lazer sent you a message about it."

emu's game scope has been silent all this time, and he sounds as puzzled as kouta feels when he asks, "it's not game disease, is it?" kouta closes his hand around the lockseed in his jacket pocket nevertheless, ready to go at a moment's notice. 

something feels different when parad says "it isn't," and emu's confused frown smooths into something controlled and focused. he pulls out his phone as parad continues, in clipped phrases, "they're not in an ambulance, lazer is riding with them, they're coming here."

parad pauses, then shakes his head as if forcing a thought out before saying, "he sent you a message hands-free, he wasn't sure it'd come through."

it must have, because emu's eyes are glued to his phone. kouta grips his lockseed tighter, "i can go ahead if you need to be here for--"

"they're coming _here_ ," parad interrupts, rising to his feet as well. he looms over kouta, but not threateningly, not even when he's clearly glaring at him. "i'll go," parad says, before pixelating in a blink of red and blue. 

emu finally looks away from his phone, and it doesn't surprise kouta how the set of his brow and the tense line of his jaw mimics parad's, especially not when it's directed at him, too. "there was a shooting incident at seito university, no kaijin, only one casualty."

part of kouta wants to be relieved, human-driven situations happen everyday after all and they're preventable somehow, but the bigger part of him, the one that comfortably straddles the line between godhood and humanity, is still wary of the near solid tension in the air. anticipation burns through his veins and keeps his grip on his lockseed; his body knows there's more that he needs to hear.

emu continues, steady and composed: "kureshima takatora was shot."

the world _tilts_ , and doesn't right itself for a long time.

  
  
  


[ _hey ace we got a situation at the SoG, no bugsters just a trigger finger, made contact with his target though, GSW graze, kureshima takatora 29, Do Not Panic_ _he is conscious and responsive_ ]

helpfully, parad notes, "that would make normal people panic a little bit."

kiriya agrees that it would, "but i said it and it's out there." parad makes a face at him, then turns back to the curtained-off section of the ER they're guarding.

technically, they should be leaving the nurse - mitsuba, on her third year and still fighting - to do her job in peace, but parad is there to _help_ , transmitting emu's concern and countering it with his own relief when kiriya explains what the nurse is doing. 

it's also helpful because it tells kiriya _what_ he needs to tell the literal god who's headed for them and _how_. at least this one isn't as annoying as the last. that's a funny thought, having a yardstick for divinities, as if any of the ones he knows are even _comparable_ \--

beyond the curtain, someone calls out "doctor hojo!" and kiriya straightens up, nodding at mitsuba to continue even as footsteps rush at them. parad sits up too, but kiriya waves a hand to signal that he's got this. as proof, his stride matches up with whoever's approaching, and he doesn't flinch when the curtain is thrown aside. 

"kouta, wait--"

there's a rhythm to it: kiriya holds onto the frantic relative/partner's arms and steers them away from the bed, he says "they're getting patched up, they're fine," and then the relative/partner struggles or goes limp, and the padded bench is seven steps away. 

kazuraba kouta, introduced to him as 'a kind of space god', follows the rhythm exactly - kiriya has to _wrestle_ him to the bench but that's within reason. what _isn't_ is the look that kazuraba cuts him when he asks what happened.

did data-locked existences get goosebumps? experience says: _yes_. 

"i'll check on him," emu says, resting a reassuring hand briefly on kazuraba's shoulder before nodding at kiriya and walking off. parad blinks curiously at their strange tableau before drawing the curtains closed and leaving kiriya with god's attention all to himself. _because, sure_.

kazuraba doesn't have to repeat himself, kiriya launches into a recount in the same rhythm, as precise as he can be with the bare-bones of the incident. 

"we paused the session for a coffee break at around 10:30. kureshima and his guard stepped out, and not five minutes later there's a scream - a woman's - and then a gunshot. i come out, kureshima's guard has the woman secured and kureshima himself has his shooter, disarmed and held down."

most people would be struggling to pay attention at this point. half a dozen or so steps isn't far and curtains just barely muffle sounds, to say the least of the rest of the ER bustling with life. also, concern, fear, and a general, unidentifiable unease tend to screw with people, as far as kiriya's varied experience tells him.

kazuraba, entirely removed from that neat web of humanity, hasn't looked away from him since he started talking, and kiriya doubts that he'd blinked at all. his hands are loose fists on his knees, and something about him has warded off even the strictest ER staff from asking him about his credentials to even _be_ there. kiriya continues, keeping his tone mild and his words factual.

"his other guard comes in with campus security, they ziptie the pair, and i notice the little blood puddle at kureshima's feet. a bullet grazed his right arm, up here," he pats his bicep to indicate the outward-facing area, "it didn't sink in, which is good, but it tore through skin deep enough that he's getting sutures done after any foreign material's been taken out of the wound."

kiriya glances over his shoulder, cocking his head at the curtained off section, before turning back to kazuraba. "it's not fatal, and without any infections settling in, he should be okay in two weeks tops."

"and the shooter? the woman?" kazuraba doesn't raise his voice or change anything about himself _outwardly_ , but kiriya hears the abrupt squeak of rubber soles behind him and he's willing to bet a nurse just about tripped over herself avoiding their little corner. kiriya doesn't blame her; kazuraba looks poised to strike - it's in his eyes, which have gone from an unassuming brown to a faintly glowing gold. 

if kiriya had a pulse, it might have started racing; regardless, he answers shortly, "in custody of the campus police." he hasn't called them yet, but kiriya knows a few folks in intake, he'll get updated soon enough. kazuraba doesn't let him say any of that, though.

"you said she screamed, the woman. what did she say?"

kazuraba doesn't raise his voice. he talks so calmly, every inch of him still but not stony - but kiriya is keenly aware of the large berth the entire ER is giving them. he is heartily _sick_ of being stuck babysitting god again.

the deflection - "i'm not at liberty to discuss that," - slides off kiriya's tongue easily, as natural as breathing. kazuraba sits up straighter, and as had been established, kiriya is entirely _susceptible_ to the shiver the minute changes in god's demeanor affects on anyone in his line of sight. but he holds his ground - he has no lie to tell here.

"nurse mitsuba will let you know when it's okay to go see him, and you can ask him yourself why the shooter had time to land a hit on him."

it's the most kiriya can say without having the time to sniff out clues. despite his curiosity, he wasn't going to let the guy who had the presence of mind to subdue his attacker _but_ lacked the self-awareness to notice the puddle of blood at his feet drive himself to the hospital. unlike ignorance, open wounds couldn't be fixed without clean sutures and antibiotics.

and if god burns a hole through the curtain with how hard he's staring, well, that's his problem and not kiriya's.

  
  
  


it takes - _time_. takatora is aware of how much, he sees the face of hojo emu's wristwatch clearly as his wound is tended, but the numbers don't stick. he hadn't hit his head, but he feels concussed, as if he'd topple over if he moves an inch out of place. but he knows why he's here, he knows what happened (it's happened before; the rest of the script should proceed just the same). 

hojo tells him the police will come to see him when he's had time to rest, but that sounds counterproductive. takatora waits until the nurse snips the suture thread before grabbing his coat and the phone in its pocket. her soft admonition to stay still has him sitting back in place, but he doesn't surrender his phone. 

"please call the police station for me, doctor hojo, i'm ready to give my statement." hojo balks and refuses, says something about _resting_ , and takatora switches tracks, recognizing a bleeding heart when it's sputtering in front of him. "then communicate with the authorities that i'm not pressing charges and, if necessary, i'll post bail for - for…"

he doesn't know their names. he hadn't recognized them. takatora trails off uselessly, and the pounding in his head that he associates with blunt force trauma returns. how inopportune. how careless of him. their faces are a blur, no matter how much he tries to remember them. 

takatora bites his tongue hard enough to put everything back into focus and concludes, "if necessary, i'll post bail. they don't need to be held in police custody, and they should be allowed to leave--"

"kureshima-san," hojo interrupts gently, "you're receiving treatment for a luckily non-fatal wound. you were shot, there are witnesses, that's grounds for assault charges."

"i'm not pressing charges," takatora has said this before, he's sure, but he'll repeat himself for the sake of clarity. "that woman - she's from zawame. she's my responsibility, and she's acting in diminished capacity, her and her accomplice."

there are protocols for this exact situation. takatora knows the script, he knows how to handle this, if he could just remember - _which one was her son?_

"we'll revisit this later." hojo is still gentle, but he's not budging. the doctors in zawame were much easier to convince, takatora laments distractedly as he gathers his coat. "kureshima-san!"

takatora doesn't know why hojo is like this. the nurse attending to him has disappeared, there's an adhesive bandage around his upper arm, and he's taken the antibiotics without protest - he's been treated and it's time for him to go. "i'm done here."

_no, you're not._

"do not _test_ me, doctor hojo."

he doesn't mean to snap. it's his temper, he's terrible when it's out of control. he's broken things in rage, and he shouldn't let that happen in a _hospital_ of all places. doctor hojo is only doing his job. doctor hojo is fulfilling his duty, despite takatora making it difficult for him; his hands are firm and uncompromising when they force him to sit back down, and there's concern clear as day on his face when he speaks. "... did you hear me say something, kureshima-san? mitsuba-san, his chart please."

someone murmurs at his periphery. 'shock', as if he'd lost that much blood. 'concussion', like he'd been bludgeoned. he'd look at them, tell them how categorically wrong they are with a clear recounting of what had happened, but his vision is whiting out at the edges.

the curtains rustle. more murmuring, louder this time. a point of heat blooms at his temple, and he has to close his eyes against the harsh glare of sunlight. out of nowhere, he starts hearing waves breaking on the shore. 

_stay still. you can rest here, takatora._

he doesn't get the chance to say _no_ before everything goes dark.

  
  
  


nurse mitsuba takes the phone kouta holds out with her head bowed and her voice small. "who will i be speaking with?"

"kureshima mitsuzane. just tell him about takatora's condition, ask any questions you need to." mitsuba thanks him and retreats to a far corner, almost hidden behind parad. kouta doesn't take offense at this or the way parad is looking at him, the way he moves so she's entirely out of his sight.

across from where kouta stands, emu busies himself - he checks takatora's pulse, shines a light into his eyes, listens to the rise and fall of his chest with a normal stethoscope. kouta can tell he's thinking about whether he should be mad or not; the set of his mouth - and parad's - gives his dilemma away.

"he's asleep," kouta says, his gaze sweeping over takatora and lingering at the bandaged wound before he wrenches it back to his face. he doesn't reach for takatora's hand despite wanting to; instead, he brushes the long fall of takatora's hair away from his forehead in slow, gentle motions and asks, "how long do you need to keep him for?"

"we'll need to observe him overnight. he was showing signs of delayed shock, and once we receive his medical history, we'll adjust the antibiotics as necessary." emu finishes his professional response before he looks up at kouta. he doesn't look like he's decided yet. kouta respects that; but, unlike emu, he didn't have a choice. 

"tell me what you did, kouta."

"he needed to be asleep, so i put him to sleep." he's never done it like this before, with takatora so unwilling. he always could, but never needed to, until today.

"will he wake up naturally, or is that your call, too?"

emu's mad. it's fair - but kouta is _furious_.

"you _heard_ what he was saying, emu, he's not thinking straight! he wasn't going to stay put unless i did _something_." kouta's surprised no one's told him off for how loud he's being, but given how nurse mitsuba just dashed out, he figures no one wants to take the chance.

"that doesn't make it _excusable_ ! i heard what he said, and yes, maybe we might have had to apply some similar measure but that's not up to _you_."

"what do you mean it isn't? that doesn't make sense, you're just contradicting yourself!" it isn't emu's fault that he doesn't know what's happening or what takatora needs. they're of a kind as riders are, kouta usually understands him perfectly, but today that isn't the case.

today, emu is angry enough to round the bed and grab him by the front of his shirt, pushing him away from takatora and backing him up against shelves of medical equipment. kouta snarls, and the look in emu's eyes says they're seconds away from brawling, and maybe they would have if not for parad's voice cutting into the fray.

" _gaim_. this is a _hospital_."

parad is as angry as emu, but he separates them without anything more than a firm shove. the way he stands blocks kouta from the bed, and broadcasts a clear message.

behind him, emu composes himself, and sounds less likely to substitute a fist for a period when he says, "let him wake up, kouta."

kouta's gaze wanders and lands on takatora's rumpled suit jacket at the foot of the bed, at the tear in one sleeve. 

"no. we're nowhere close to done."

when kouta leaves, no one comes after him.

  
  
  


nurse mitsuba pokes her head through the curtains twenty minutes later. she's brought them drinks - a coffee for emu and a green jelly pack for parad - and kureshima takatora's phone, and emu is relieved to see her smiling, even if it's just a little bit. mitsuba waits for him to accept his coffee and set aside the chart he's working on before she speaks. 

"i spoke with mitsuzane-san." their patient's younger brother, apparently, who's sending over his relevant records. "he asked if kazuraba kouta was here - he's that man you were with earlier, right?" when emu nods, mitsuba continues, "okay, mitsuzane-san said that's okay, he's allowed to be here, and mitsuzane-san will be coming tomorrow to see takatora-san."

that doesn't drain the tension from emu's shoulders at all, but he thanks mitsuba for the update anyway. she bows, chats with parad a little, and promises to let them know when takatora's room is ready before leaving.

with the curtain drawn again, emu lets himself heave a deep sigh. he sort of melts to the floor, but their patient isn't able to protest his lack of professionalism. it's worrying. he should talk with kouta, emu knows. not in any public place, and definitely not the CR - the helipad could probably withstand a few blows between them, if it comes to it. maybe he should ask parad to tag in if it gets dire. 

"lazer went to sniff things out," parad says, halting emu's train of thought. he's sitting at the foot of the bed, which emu allows because he's also helping both of them calm down by methodically squishing and pinching his jelly pack. emu pulls up a chair to sit next to him and cracks open his coffee as he asks, "is he coming back soon?"

"he's not saying." parad squints at a point above emu's head, then shrugs, " _'when god isn't around, maybe'_. i haven't told him you yelled at gaim and almost punched him."

"please do _not_ , thank you." it wasn't his best moment and while they were both to blame, emu feels a special kind of regret at nearly losing it at a patient's bedside. 

it's just - "he was _completely different_ , at that moment." emu bites his lip, and corrects himself, "no, he was different even before we got here. when i told him… i understand being worried about his friend, but more than that, he was so - so _angry_."

it was impossible not to hear how kouta, sat outside the curtains, had asked about what the woman had said. mitsuba's hands hadn't trembled where she was stitching their patient's wound closed, but she'd gone pale as a sheet when kouta spoke.

emu takes a long sip of his coffee and parad finally opens his jelly pack to slurp from it. they're quiet for a few moments, before parad says, "i'd be angry too, if you got hurt."

"same here," emu replies. encouraged, parad continues, "gaim was angry because his friend was hurt, and was being stubborn about resting."

emu nods, it was a perfectly normal reaction, despite the intensity of how it was expressed, to a frightening incident which hadn't even been rider-related and, therefore, preventable to an extent. "kouta cares about him. it's understandable that he's worried stupid."

parad finishes his jelly pack before he speaks again; when he does, his voice is less certain, and he speaks in short phrases, like he's puzzling out something."gaim's friend was hurt, he's worried, so he's angry, and a human did it."

there's more to being alive that parad is yet unfamiliar with, and emu appreciates him trying to make sense of the things he sees and experiences. this one, though, isn't one of those clean cut scenarios explainable as is, and he shares the notion with parad without words, relying on their connection to make things clear.

"i know it's not like that," parad says, petulant but not shying away from the reassuring hand emu rests on his arm. "i'm just _thinking_ \- gaim is mad at the situation, at the human, at _you_ , maybe." he pauses, and his entire expression twists into uncomprehending, "but why is he so mad at his friend?"

 _because he's being stupid about his safety_ , emu wants to say. kureshima takatora might be put together enough to be running _an entire bureau_ but he's clearly the same flavor of headstrong, an 'it's just a scratch'-type that would test even the most patient of deities. 

but then emu remembers the look on kouta's face, when he'd first told him the news. the way his eyes went dark, the clean wipe of his expression into something shuttered and blank. the way kouta had asked _'what did she say?'_

they're missing a part of the picture, and emu has a sinking feeling that it's the most important part.

  
  
  


he'd asked what the woman said, wanted the _exact words_ , because he needed to know. and, more than that, he wanted to be proven wrong. kouta can't draw a single breath without choking on the rage that had him going against a kamen rider just like him, and the only way he knows he'll be able to breathe properly again is if he's wrong.

the hope he clings to desperately erodes into so much useless sand when he enters the dreamscape: instead of the shoreline, takatora stands facing a wall of faces whose eyes have been erased by black streaks.

"they're from zawame," takatora says. kouta hesitates to come closer - the lines of him fade and blur like static, like he's not entirely there. despite the oppressive air around them, the entire dreamscape feels decidedly intangible - as if kouta could topple it over with one misstep. 

he's shaken off the thought when takatora starts walking, one hand raised to pass over the faces within reach, and when he says, with his voice that's as indistinct as the space at kouta's periphery, "i can't remember them."

 _of course you can't._ everytime kouta focuses on a face, it shifts and changes. he thinks he sees hase just above takatora's head, but when he blinks it's a woman he doesn't recognize. 

the dreamscape they're in is takatora's alone. that kouta is even able to step into it is a testament of his power, and absolutely nothing else. he hadn't been invited here, and he doubts takatora even knows who's standing with him.

kouta is _wrong_ and in his desperation, anger is the only thing that makes sense. "what did she call you."

"she didn't say anything new." _wrong. wrong answer._

"tell me what she said."

takatora stops walking, in front of a face that may have been yuuya before it morphed into micchy. he seems afraid to touch it. kouta repeats himself, and takatora's shoulders pull up taut before slumping; he finally turns to face kouta, and his eyes are tired and the line of his mouth is bent in resignation. 

"she called me a murderer. she asked me to give her son back."

kouta wants to yell. his hands shake in useless fists at his sides. all behind takatora, the wall of faces stays stark and vivid, solid like neither of them are. but the faces don't belong to anyone.

"you can't," he says, miserable and desperate. he's _wrong_ , these words are _wrong_ , and kouta is frantic as he scrambles for a way to make them right, "but hurting you is--"

"it's retribution," takatora says, solemn and quiet in the face of the raging furnace that kouta barely keeps in check. "reparations, for what i failed to do."

"how can you say that, how can you _think_ \--" in a last ditch effort, kouta marches up to takatora and grabs him by his shirt, shaking him hard as he speaks, as if he could slot his sanity back into place. "she had you _shot_ , you're _human_ , you could have _died_!"

"i would have deserved it," takatora replies, easily, like it's a practiced response. "it was my fault, in the end."

"don't screw with me!" takatora barely reacts when kouta slams him hard against the wall. his eyes look as if he's seeing through kouta, who can't help but shove him again as he demands, "what part of getting _shot_ was _your fault_?!"

like an adult patiently explaining the simplest of concepts to a child, takatora says, "i failed zawame. i failed the world."

the faces behind takatora shift again. they barely look human, when takatora isn't looking at them. 

kouta's grip falters; when he lets go, takatora stays leaning against the wall, before slowly sliding down to sit at kouta's feet. his eyes are downcast and unfocused, and the slope of his shoulders make him look impossibly brittle, like one wrong move would break him even further. kouta wants so badly to hold him, to comfort him. 

carefully, he kneels, and tries to be gentle when he puts his hand on takatora's shoulder, irrationally afraid of jarring the wound just below it

\--but it isn't there. 

takatora's sleeve is unmarred, and there is no sign that it ever was. 

"that's not right," kouta hears himself say. his voice sounds strange to his own ears. loud, when he didn't even feel his mouth move, a roar of sound that makes takatora flinch and close his eyes briefly. 

did takatora forget he was hurt? or did he think it didn't matter? this is _takatora's_ dreamscape, this is the reality he wants to reflect. kouta has had his fill of being wrong, he doesn't want to know the answer, but it speaks just as loudly as he does. 

"that's not right, you got _hurt_ , stop thinking that that's right!"

above takatora's head, the faces blur like they've been thrust under water; distorted shapes phase in and out of sight and kouta hates every single one of them.

"i had responsibilities." takatora doesn't look up at him, despite how close kouta is. their eyes can't meet each other's and kouta is suddenly afraid they never will again. "for the sake of humanity. but i failed in that and i failed her, too. that's why, it's alright."

kouta repeats "but you got hurt," like a useless, broken record. takatora shakes his head and lifts a hand to lay against kouta's chest to nudge him away. "she's grieving, and this is the only way i can help her."

"why… why are you taking over her grief? why are you taking responsibility for that, too?" kouta doesn't budge, and instead reaches for takatora's hand, clutching it in one of his own as he uses the other to make takatora face him.

"it's my responsibility, my _noblesse oblige_ , and i--"

kouta's fist breaks the wall next to takatora's head as he yells, "shut _up_ about your fucking _responsibilities_!"

the punch that sends him sprawling off takatora isn't unwelcome. for a moment, kouta actually hopes they'll finally get to talk properly. he'd gladly bear with the snap of pain in his jaw if that's what it takes.

and then takatora says: "this is my atonement. i'm willing to make any sacrifice if it means giving someone some peace of mind."

kouta sits frozen as takatora turns away from him and back to the faceless wall. he hears himself say something, feels his throat ache at how loud he's being - yet somehow the words are muffled as if they're echoing back over a large distance. none of that matters, though, because takatora doesn't listen.

he finds himself contemplating the lockseed in his pocket, only to scream out in disbelief and frustration at his own thoughts. takatora pays him no mind.

 _wake up_ , kouta wants to say. _this isn't you_. 

he's not sure who he's talking to.


	2. Chapter 2

parad offers to watch over their patient, and emu goes off to do his rounds after seeing them settled in a private room with a security officer from the hospital stationed right outside the door. 

it's redundant, but it's protocol, and director kagami himself tells emu that the instruction came as an inviolable order from 'higher up'. the unintentional parallel makes emu think of kouta, and he resolves to sit down with him before the day is over. 

he's just finished compiling his notes from his rounds when kiriya materializes on his examination table in a cloud of yellow and pink pixels. "hey, ace! heard you got a god problem."

"kiriya-san." emu tries to sound unimpressed, but kiriya's smile is even more infectious after the day he's had. "you didn't get yourself into trouble with all your snooping, did you?"

"didn't have the time to, that kureshima bigshot kept me _plenty_ busy." grinning, kiriya hops to his feet and stretches, making exaggerated grunts of exertion. he's entirely unsubtle when he kicks his foot back to close emu's office door, but emu doesn't call him out on it. there's a slant to kiriya's smile that tells emu nothing good, and if a locked door makes him more likely to explain it, it's _definitely_ not for anyone else to hear.

"busy… how?" kureshima's records had come in earlier; his antibiotics wouldn't need adjusting, but emu had been concerned about the notes… or, the lack thereof. he couldn't exactly find fault in how heavily redacted the documents had been - the pressing questions about kureshima's potential aversion to medication had been answered and he'd remained stable all afternoon (aside from the space god-enforced coma) - but it was still jarring to see so many instances of consultations but learn so little from them. 

"this isn't an isolated case," kiriya says, the smile on his face fading into a barely there quirk at the corner of his mouth. "the attack _and_ kureshima takatora's approach to it. the protests have died down with some of the rebuilding efforts coming to completion, but early on in the game they were damn persistent." 

with a few quick taps, kiriya pulls up news reports about the zawame city restoration bureau on emu's computer. "he hasn't toned down his appearances for whatever public display the bureau needs to put out, and a lot of the times, people don't like seeing him up and about when so many of zawame's residents are still unaccounted for."

as dates and venue names jump out at emu, he swallows hard. he's getting a better idea of what's behind the black bars overtaking kureshima's records, and it does nothing at all to ease his worries.

"so. you mix justifiably angry but also potentially violent mobs and the ex-yggdrasil R&D head, the only guy gutsy enough to show his face after the whole outfit went belly up - you get lots of charges for assault and disruption, destruction of property, the works." the latest article kiriya opens dates back two months ago. emu glances at the folder tucked under the clipboard he uses for his rounds, and, after a nudge from kiriya, he pulls it out and checks the date of the article against the records. there's an entry, just as emu had feared.

"but kureshima-san doesn't press charges." 

" _kureshima_ doesn't press charges, yeah. the venue owners and employee unions, on the other hand, _go ham_." kiriya straightens up and slips his sunglasses off, tucking them into his shirt pocket as he looks at emu, the curve of his mouth now decidedly _un_ amused. "guess who bails them out, every time?"

"kureshima-san," emu murmurs, closing the folder and sighing deeply. "that… that has to be against the law, somehow."

"babe, everything this guy does with the bureau is under a transparency code that's almost _invasive_. the bail-outs are funded by investors and classified as reparations to zawame - it's all clean. there's a section talking about how the mobs are a result of the people's mental unwellness hence why it falls under psychological amends for the people who still suffer from the helheim invasion--" kiriya cuts himself off visibly, his jaw working as he presses his lips together and looks away from emu.

"the uni has the woman and her accomplice in a holding room. i heard a bureau lawyer's already been in contact with them - there's a chance the charges won't even get drafted."

emu thinks back to that morning, before his disaster of a talk with kouta and before he read the medical records that gave rise to more questions than answers, to how kureshima had spoken to him: perfectly composed as if he'd been reading from a prompter, uncompromising in his words and tone (up until he needed to name his attackers).

it's easy to imagine kureshima talking the same way when giving them instructions to junk the form required for legal investigations. emu is suddenly, unshakably certain that he's done it before, and no one could question him.

"he knows what he's doing," kiriya continues, weariness dragging his words out of him in quiet disbelief, "there's an exact science behind these attacks and how he's responding to them. it'd be one thing if he was drumming up sympathy for himself, inciting people to storm his presentations so more people feel sorry for how hard he's working… but, that's not it, is it, ace?"

emu doesn't answer right away. he turns back to his computer, to the reports kiriya had opened. he thinks about kouta's question, what he asked and how he said it, and the pages of kureshima's medical records. he's not like kiriya, who maybe in a different life would have still ended up pounding pavement for clues and perps, but he _is_ a doctor, and kureshima is a patient - just, one that's having difficulties _being_ one. 

"i need to talk with kouta about this." 

kiriya barks out a laugh, "better you than me, babe." he claps a hand on emu's shoulder before pressing a quick kiss to his forehead, "i'll go relieve the loyal guard, maybe catch kureshima in a talkative mood. i was _really_ looking forward to the hell fruit thing..."

"about that. uhm."

there's probably a diplomatic, non-incriminating way of saying that he'd almost gotten into a fist fight with god because he induced a patient into a coma without his consent. emu has had too much of a day to even attempt that.

at least the truth makes kiriya laugh. 

"i gotta tell him about this when he wakes up. _please_ , let your god friend know i _will_ kick ass if he doesn't lift the enforced coma."

emu, who's figured out how kiriya likes to tuck truths in little lies to throw people off, nods and adds, "you have to wait your turn, though."

"of course, babe."

  
  
  


as it turns out, there was no need for threats of a godly beatdown: when kiriya enters kureshima's room, the man of the hour is awake, propped up by the raised upper half of his bed and watching parad make patterns on a rubix cube. he doesn't look one hundred percent aware, but he's not in an enforced coma, so kiriya can smile with genuine relief and pull his hand away from his driver.

"good evening, kureshima-san. been awake long?"

"he's been awake for three faces, and i made sure he drank water and told me if anything felt wrong, though i think he's lying when he says nothing is," parad answers. his bedside manner could use a little work but kiriya appreciates the report. also, the way it pulls a real expression on kureshima's face, however slight it is: a slight frown, a wrinkled brow, eyes shifting from the cube to parad's face and then, to kiriya. 

"good evening, doctor kujo." he presses his lips into a thin line, and sounds supremely uncomfortable but ultimately resigned when he says, "i presume i'm being kept for observation."

kureshima's a smart guy, kiriya knows. it's just a shame he's also very _stupid_ \- but kiriya doesn't know his life, he can't blame him for how his brain works. 

"doctor's orders, and i'm willing to bet the guard at the door is there _for_ you as much as the mercs outside the window are for _you_." as parad's head swivels around to peer out the window, kureshima levels kiriya with a reproachful look (personally, he interprets its message as _'i can't deny that that's true, but hey'_ ). 

the look only lasts for a moment, and then kureshima is tucking it behind a professional front that somehow forces kiriya to ignore that he's in hospital scrubs and sporting a bedhead that deserves to be made fun of, just a little. no offense to poppy's costume change but kureshima's _gravitas_ is something else - and this is him as a _patient_.

"the dedicated security is protocol for events like today's. please let director kagami know i appreciate his cooperation." he pauses, then adds, less stiffly, "i'm sorry about the presentation being postponed. deputy director hinata told me how much you were looking forward to it, if you have time i'd be happy to answer your queries, seeing as i won't be going anywhere until further notice."

deputy director hinata sold him out and kiriya couldn't be happier about it. "that's very generous of you--"

"he's supposed to be resting," parad interrupts, apparently done with and over the novelty of actual mercenaries.

"--and i am definitely going to get back to you on that, just one sec." 

it doesn't take much to get parad out of the room - just a task and a reason. kiriya asks him to get them fun drinks of his choice from the vendo and also transparently informs him that he wants to pick kureshima's brain a bit. "don't give me that look," kiriya says as parad raises an eyebrow at him, "it's for science _and_ health."

"you're planning something," parad observes. he glances over his shoulder at kureshima, whom they've turned their backs on for a flimsy illusion of privacy, before shrugging, "you're the doctor."

" _exactly_. also emu told me, i think you both deserve a prize--" here, parad preens, offering his cheek presumably for the prize (which is very, very cute of him, and a clear indicator that if kiriya fails to deliver he _will_ come to collect), "--but we'll get to that later. fun drinks first, yeah?"

parad pouts a little, but something in kiriya's face keeps him from pushing. he turns back to kureshima and hands him the unfinished rubix cube, saying, "watch this and don't let lazer fidget with it," tacking on a "please" after a pause. he's out of the room in a burst of pixels, and to his credit, kureshima only blinks once before letting out a noncommittal _hmm_. 

kiriya claims the chair parad had left, breezing through a quick internal debate about looking professional or sitting the way he likes before he crosses his legs and leans back in the chair, flashing a genial smile at kureshima. "so, were you serious about talking hell fruit with me _right now_ ? i have to know before i ask all the dozens of my questions because i'm _very_ curious."

"any questions you might have, i'll answer to the best of my abilities. barring that, i can access the presentation collaterals with my phone if you'd like to see them." kureshima holds eye contact with him while he talks, unwavering and unafraid; he's notably more lucid-seeming, talking about research and access and being generally accommodating without coming off as too friendly. it's as if they're sitting down in an office instead of a guarded hospital room, and kiriya can tell how settled he is in this scenario, how familiar kureshima is with the motions.

in perfect juxtaposition, the whole thing makes kiriya's stomach double up in knots (or it would, if he had a digestive system, but the feeling is so _visceral_. thanks, he hates it).

"i don't suppose the arm would make doing any of that difficult?" kiriya asks, a polite inquiry that could pass off as concern. the smile on his face is set to 'i'm a doctor, you can trust me', and maybe kureshima is used to more docile practitioners who have no problems with ignoring what multiple instances of similar injuries are trying to tell them - but kiriya is charming, non-confrontational, and very good at lying. 

when kureshima says, "no, it won't," with no visible attempt at guile, he isn't surprised; he nods, conceding, "right, right, with the antibiotics it's practically out of your mind."

after a pause where he does a perfunctory read of the room and kureshima's lax stance, kiriya continues, still in the same polite, engaging tone, "not like a bomb scare, that shit makes you stay put for a while." 

two months to be exact, based on the latest news update kiriya had seen on the bureau's website. there were no casualties, kureshima was well away from the actual blast, but there was a corresponding entry - however brief - in his medical records and kiriya _reads_. 

in the face of kiriya's incendiary comment, kureshima's expression doesn't change, which is a _feat_ , and then he absolutely _schools_ kiriya when he says, "i'd imagine dying and becoming a data-based entity does the same thing." 

kiriya can't help it - he _laughs_ , too loud to be polite. kureshima's mouth quirks; it's not amusement, but it's also not a rebuke. kureshima's tone is tinged with the prim propriety required when you tell someone to _eat shit_ when he says, "i read, too."

"of course you do. did it make a good bedtime story?"

"i had to keep myself entertained somehow while in the doctor's custody," kureshima explains, and this shitty, law-abiding, habitual daredevil with a death wish has the gall to look _innocent_. 

"i physically don't need to breathe, if you make me laugh i'm not gonna stop."

"good, maybe that will keep you from snooping around where you shouldn't." kiriya has to remind himself they're in a hospital room, not kureshima's private office, despite how the man behaves. 

it's all a jumble of concerning, frustrating, and ridiculous, and kiriya doesn't even try to stifle the next laugh that bubbles up in him. one of them _had_ to laugh in this situation, and it obviously wasn't going to be the guy who had to be deifically knocked out. 

"your transparency code is hurting your chances of stopping me from snooping, you realize that?"

he gets an elegant, one-shoulder shrug for that comment, which is fair. it's _do what you will_ coupled with _why should i care_ , and kiriya abruptly wants to terrorize the medical team at zawame -- except they've been dealing with kureshima all this time, so maybe they deserve some slack or a round of drinks. or _both_. 

"kureshima-san, i'm morally obligated to tell you to your face what a mess you're being, since no one seems brave enough to do it." kiriya doesn't call him stupid outright, he's saving _that_ for friendship level [ _tell me how your dad or dad-figure plays into this_ ], and it turns out _mess_ is the best approximation anyway, since it pulls kureshima's mouth into an indignant frown, incidentally the first unfabricated expression he's made since kiriya activated his "big serious suit man" mode.

before kureshima could defend himself, kiriya continues, "and that's because emu almost threw hands with your tag-along deity when he induced you into a coma to keep you from walking off while in delayed shock."

something tightens in kureshima's face at the mention of kazuraba kouta, and kiriya briefly entertains the thought that he'd overstepped -- then shoves it out the proverbial door. he'd said it, it's out there now, no room for regrets. 

"he do that a lot?" kiriya keeps his tone conversational, ready to flip between actively taking the name of god in vain or doing the same thing but less meanly depending on kureshima's answer. kiriya has a lot of righteous anger to go around, but he's really more inclined to work on the bit he can direct at kureshima and his practiced tendency to put himself in harm's way.

"no," kureshima answers shortly. the hospital scrubs do very little to hide the tense lines of his shoulders as he adds "we'll talk about it," in the same way one might say _'we'll have a spectacular fight about it'_. 

kiriya nods, as if that was an acceptable reply (really, what does _he_ know about riders and their seconds?), and asks, "you gonna talk about how your attackers will get nothing more than a slap on the wrist, too? 'cause i think mister space god would have a few less-than-godly words to say about that."

"i didn't realize a member of the game disease vaccine development team had time to spare to play detective." oh, that's _cute_. that's _fucking_ adorable, kureshima playing the same card. shitty hypocrite - kiriya is so fond of him now, it's too late. 

"yeah, sometimes i do remote work when a car crash as big as your relationship with your safety and well-being is happening in my direct line of sight." 

kureshima hasn't weaponized parad's rubix cube and kiriya knows he won't; the look on his face says he'd prefer something sharper. "what are you accusing me of, doctor kujo?"

"being a reckless fuck. but that's wrong, actually, that doesn't even touch anything important - you _know_ what you're doing, kureshima-san." 

now, kiriya knows this kind of confrontation is… unwise. maybe it'd be _frowned upon_ by the good folks in the mental health division. maybe kiriya is laying it on too hard, too fast. maybe god will soon have a very good reason to critical hit him into space, whatever.

it's just that --

"i read a lot - which is me bragging but also, i don't need to sleep - and i have a lot of time to indulge, outside official work hours. i was looking forward to the presentation today because i'm interested in the work the zawame reconstruction bureau is doing, in the hell fruit that was supposed to be a reverse fruit of wisdom and what it's doing to people who are foolhardy enough to consume it." 

kiriya pauses, gauging kureshima's attention. he still looks like he wants to shut kiriya up, semi-permanently, but that goes for anyone who talks with him. so kiriya continues, raw and honest and angry, and fucking _concerned_.

"i'm also interested in the man making it all happen. the man who was poised to inherit yggdrasil and the world-wide power of that conglomerate, the man who saw that implode on itself, who then dusted off all that debris and rebuilt it into something better--"

"stop patronizing me and get to the point."

twice already kiriya has felt the premonition of god standing on his grave. at this moment where anyone else would be rightfully rattled, kiriya just feels tired, all of a sudden. kureshima's hands grip each other tightly, and he looks at kiriya like he's waiting for the hammer of condemnation to drop - like he's _daring_ kiriya to aim and swing it at his head. he'd ask _who hurt you_ but he already knows the answer. 

"you allow protestors who assault you to go free without repercussions and call it 'psychological reparations'. you set that clause up, and you actively enforce it. you've legally made yourself a target and when someone finally noticed and _tried to kill you_ , you default to the same protocol."

kiriya doesn't really know this man, he doesn't know _who_ kureshima takatora is when he's not in public or being the subject of intrigue. but he's watched him talk about his city and his people, and he's heard him ask for the name of the people who attacked him while still bleeding. neither came off as disingenuine, and normally that might have passed for a good thing, except for _this_.

"you've got me all curious, kureshima-san. why does the man in the middle of this massive rebuilding effort have a death wish strong enough to piss off god?"

to kiriya's surprise, that gets kureshima to crack a smile. it's not a nice smile, but it's not a portent of kiriya's second death; it's another blunt weapon kureshima puts himself in the path of, and kiriya, despite it all, keeps listening to see what he'll do with it. 

"any god would find it vexing for something he made to be going against his plans." after a moment, the smile drops, and so do kureshima's shoulders; he sinks against the pillow propping him up and his gaze falls on the toy in his lap. "that's unfair to kouta, though. as you said, i know what i'm doing."

the confirmation is as gratifying as it is a punch to the gut. it's not like he wanted to be right about something like this.

"this has nothing to do with him," kureshima says, ardent in a way he hadn't been when accusations were flying between them, "though i'm not happy with what he did, he has his reasons. as you can probably tell, i'm hard headed, so it was likely necessary."

kureshima finally lifts his gaze, and kiriya stays quiet, giving him space to talk and maybe shed light on something other than a god's wiles. 

"i have responsibilities, doctor kujo, not the least of which bind me to service to zawame city." kureshima doesn't look away from him, and kiriya sees the moment he falls into a script again, delivering a line of dialogue he's repeated countless times before, a fundamental truth that he lives by, "my _noblesse oblige_ requires certain sacrifices, and i am in no position to deny any of it."

 _because you put yourself there_ , kiriya wants to say, _and you're not looking for a way out_. 

what comes out is a dull commiseration ("that's rough, buddy,") that gets him another performative smile (kureshima has the kind of cheekbones that make a smile something to look forward to; sadly, this isn't one of those times). kiriya feels thrown off track, despite how his suspicions had just been confirmed. it drains him, but kureshima looks just as tired, so the silence that follows is vaguely tinged with solidarity - over what, kiriya can't explain.

it's to this silence that parad returns, carrying four drinks in his arms. kiriya counts an oshiruko, two fanta's (an apple and a fruit punch), and a georgia coffee au lait that gets tossed to him as parad strides in. he cracks the can open as parad's one-sided conversation with kureshima washes over him ("you can pick, i was going to get the pudding or the ribbon jelly but nurse mitsuba saw me,") and drains it even before kureshima claims the oshiruko for himself.

"hey, parad-chan, i'll be back in a bit - just remembered i had a thing to do downstairs." kiriya ruffles parad's hair and doesn't scold him off the foot of the bed, from where he's teaching kureshima how to make faces on the rubix cube. he does this with any patient he comes across, and the nurses won't bother him, kiriya knows. 

kureshima nods at kiriya when he leaves; he doesn't outwardly look _grateful_ for the change in tension but he looks less like he'd fall asleep as soon as he's alone, and that counts for something. 

kiriya takes the stairs and pixelates through the hospital halfway down. he materializes in emu's office and is thankful for how dark and empty it is. no one needs to see him curl into a defensive ball and go through the motions of breathing - it'd ruin his street cred, on top of everything else. without an audience, kiriya indulges and takes five minutes to set himself to rights and shake off the doom and gloom he'd waded into in kureshima's company. there was no way he'd be able to throw a lifesaver to the guy if he was unstable himself, and that part, at least, he could work on alone. 

their conversation had left him with a renewed, semi-grudging understanding of kazuraba's actions (he's staying in line to throw down with god, on principle, though), as well as the resolve to go through kureshima's medical record with him, point by point, and spell out how he can't possibly enact all the change he wants if he's not, physically able. he's so _stupid_ , kiriya is beside himself with the anticipation of calling him that _verbatim_.

for now though, he needs to first - find said documentation, and second - maybe get god in on the quest to jumpstart kureshima's self-preservation instinct.

( _that he'll have no luck with either won't deter kiriya, but it_ will _delay him enough to miss what emu calls 'the most awkward conversation starter ever' and what parad succinctly reacts to with an 'eyes' emoji over his head._ )

  
  
  


it's a brisk autumn night, and while emu doubts if earth's climate still affects actual gods in any way, he still grabs two hot coffees from the vendo on his way to the helipad. at worst, he can use one as a projectile, though he really hopes he won't have to. 

after kiriya had left, he'd taken a moment to collect himself and put the documents on his desk to rights. kureshima's folder went into the drawer with a lock, and the key sits heavy in his pocket. despite being out of sight, it's in no way out of mind - part of emu refuses to stop fretting over the conversation it all but demands, and he walks straight into the door leading out to the helipad for his troubles. it has the dubious benefit of announcing his presence, at least - kouta waves a hand briefly, despite facing away from emu. 

cross-legged on the floor under the weak fluorescent lights and leaning back on his hands, kouta looks tired and unfocused like he'd just taken a breather from a fight. emu feels guilt bloom anew in his stomach: it doesn't excuse anything, but kureshima-san is obviously important to kouta, that he'd react so uncharacteristically to him getting hurt in a situation totally removed from the fights they've been in; here, this time, there was nothing kouta could do. 

"i hope you don't mind coffee," emu says as he sits himself down beside kouta, who turns and blinks at him, before smiling faintly. he murmurs a thanks for the drink emu passes him and they sit in companionable silence for a while, sipping at their drinks and watching the stars twinkle into view. 

just as emu settles on a truly awkward conversation starter ("what's the weather like, on your planet?"), kouta speaks first. "must be tough, dealing with patients like that."

"i feel like i've gotten pretty used to it." between children and game disease patients, emu has dealt with a lot. "... kureshima-san is something else, though."

"yeah," kouta agrees, and from the corner of his eye, emu sees him smile into his coffee, all fond, before he takes a long sip and sighs, "he really is."

emu shifts his gaze back to the sky and throws out what should have been a question, but is instead a statement without any physical punctuation. "this isn't the first time this happened." 

kouta is less feral when answering this time, and the careful way he speaks tells emu he's been thinking about all this, too. "no, and yes. a lot of people are still angry, though most of the time crowd control is enough. today was… it was _supposed_ to be the same as always." 

a grimace works its way onto kouta's face; he empties his coffee and gets it under control, mostly, but there's a tightness in his shoulders that hadn't been there when emu first approached him. remembering the practiced way kureshima had responded to the incident, emu wonders how many of them kouta had been present for. the question leaves a sour taste in his mouth, and he nearly drains his own coffee trying to wash it away. 

predictably, the taste stays, and it pushes emu to say what kouta surely already knew. "it's awful that he's so used to it, though." 

"sure is," kouta agrees; despite the banality of the words, he doesn't seem put off by them. his anger from earlier that day feels all but evaporated, replaced with a helplessness that emu isn't a complete stranger to. 

"kouta, what kureshima-san is doing, he's--"

"he's too kind to blame anyone but himself." 

cut off abruptly, emu can only listen as kouta's feelings burst out, his voice turned wavering by frustration and damp-eyed anger. 

"he's so _stubborn_. he has this, this _thing_ \- about how he should make sacrifices for other people, about how his status obligates him to a lot of responsibilities." kouta bites his lip, hard enough that emu worries he'll break skin, but instead it's his voice that cracks into a wretched, splintered thing. 

"i wouldn't worry so much if they included _him_ staying _safe and alive_."

both their coffee cans are thankfully empty, so emu doesn't feel too bad about toppling them over when he pulls kouta into a tight hug. all thoughts of laying out the deeply concerning web of kureshima takatora's mental state get temporarily put aside as emu does his best to comfort his friend, foregoing superfluous words and sticking with the simple but grounding act of holding him. 

it's clear as day, right then and there - he's barely an adult, this god that emu holds together in his arms. he cries in contained sniffles, and emu hugs him closer, rubbing a hand over his back in soothing circles. if he blinks back his own tears while doing so, no one else (save for maybe parad) knows. 

eventually, when kouta's breathing gets regular again, they disentangle. kouta pulls out a handkerchief to blow into and emu surreptitiously wipes at his eyes with his sleeves, and they give each other a moment to compose themselves without judgement. for all that he'd unraveled just minutes ago, kouta looks less disheveled than emu feels, which is a good thing. he's even smiling a little, turning his handkerchief over in his hands. 

"i know you're wanting to talk my ear off about things - which are definitely important, if they're about what i _think_ they're about - but. thanks for just, letting me get that out." 

wearing a lopsided grin, emu holds a fist out. "figured i would, since we got the fist fight part done already." they laugh together, tiredly but easily as only friends can, then do a loose interpretation of gentaro's handshake to dispel any lingering awkwardness between them. 

afterwards, kouta heaves a deep breath before rocking backwards to propel himself to his feet. he goes through a few quick stretches, gives his face two hearty slaps, and then turns to emu, saying, "he's awake now, by the way. but you can still land a hit on me, if you want."

at that, it's emu's turn to grimace. "don't be a hypocrite. sorry for shoving you, also, but you were being an ass."

"fair," kouta agrees. "i won't make excuses about it... i was worried and forgot myself." his mouth twists, and then he exhales roughly, "i was _scared_ , almost out of my mind."

there's more than a few good reasons why he should be, but putting it that way wouldn't help anyone, emu knows. "you said earlier, this wasn't the first time something like this happened."

"more or less," kouta confirms. he drops into a crouch closer to emu, righting their upturned coffee cans as he elaborates. "first time someone landed a hit. _not_ the first time he's tried to rush himself out of the hospital and bail his attackers out." emu makes a pained face and kouta shrugs and bites the inside of his cheek in commiseration. "i'm usually off-earth so i find out about these things _after_ the fact, when he tells me about his day."

he doesn't look away or hide behind a fabricated expression, so emu sees how kouta's eyes stay warm and human when he asks, "you noticed the pattern too, yeah?"

"... yeah. kiriya-san, too. it's, y'know, in our line of work, it's not rare - but that doesn't make it okay." there's at least _one_ rider emu knows personally who would take offense at the thought of life being relegated as a commodity to be bartered with, and a whole host of others who'd protest on principle (despite being hypocrites about it).

"like i said, takatora's stubborn." emu can hardly imagine how he is as a second, with kouta smiling like he does even as he defends and berates him in the same breath. "he's trying to be a good example for his brother, and usually he's on the right track, except for today. oh, and that time i could tell he was agreeing with micchy about needing to be punched, even if he didn't really say so."

 _riders_ , emu sighs to himself. 

"kiriya-san went to ask him about it. he knows not to be pushy, but if things end up uncomfortable…" he doesn't think kiriya would rile up kureshima on purpose, but well-meaning as his partner is, sometimes he needed someone to pull the breaks earlier. "i'm apologizing in advance."

kouta waves his apology away with a wry grin, "it can't be worse than the talk takatora and i just had. we obviously need another one, with less shouting from me and more paying attention from him. less punching, all around. i think getting the facts first would be good for that."

it's a promising start, emu thinks, since kureshima clearly had no plans to submit wholly to medical care-- "wait, when did you talk? parad didn't say anything about you coming to his room…"

"ah, we talked in - there's this place? uhm, okay, _place_ is a bit generous…"

as kouta explains this particular facet of his godly powers ("you can visit people's _dreams_ ," "yeah! still figuring out how it works, honestly,"), they collect their empty cans and toss them into the recycling bin. their conversation continues into the elevator and through most of the walk to kureshima's room, and only stops when kouta himself does, two doors away from their destination.

abruptly, he asks emu, "you want to bring up treatment, right?"

he _had_ been planning to, despite _and_ because of how kureshima had acted earlier in the ER. "if he's willing to listen to it, yes. that he probably has local doctors bending to his requests isn't reassuring, but i'm sure we can find ways around it."

"yeah, okay, good," kouta says, "i wanted to make sure there was something to circle back to. he likes that, having plans." they resume walking, and emu can see how the assurance has built up kouta's resolve. "it's good. if it comes from someone who cares about him, kureshima-san might listen more."

"i hope so."

  
  
  


"M's bringing gaim here," parad says, apropos of nothing, while shifting blocks of color around his rubix cube to change the expressions he's made. 

before this (objectively expected) interruption, takatora had simply been watching him, grateful beyond words for the lack of anything resembling an attempt at conversation. now he sits straighter, pulled taut by anticipation, and parad continues to focus on his toy, a study in indifference. 

"if you don't want visitors, say so." there's a guard stationed outside his door and a mercenary at his window who's surely selling him out to oren even as he keeps vigilant watch - takatora isn't hurting for privacy, but the situation is different from how parad frames it: _kouta_ is coming to see him, and takatora isn't sure if he's ready to face him yet.

last he'd seen kouta was in a dreamscape, and it had not been pleasant or coherent. 

(if he were at all vindictive about _how_ he'd ended up sleeping deeply enough to enter one, he'd blame kouta for the sight that had his stomach twisting itself into vines - but takatora can't hate kouta for what was, in all likelihood, medically necessary. above that, hating kouta for _anything_ is out of the question.)

takatora doubts his capacity for either states of mind, but barring kouta from being in the room felt excessive; it isn't that he _can't_ come in, but what would they even _say_ when he did? apologies were banal and takatora knows he'd pick the wrong thing to show regret for. pretending to be civil when kouta was clearly worried enough to fight his fellow rider was a disservice to his feelings. the only option left was to explain themselves to each other, but the prospect of having an audience for that kills takatora's willingness immediately.

in the end, takatora doesn't even have the time to _think_ of what to say - not even five minutes after parad's announcement, the door opens, and kouta is bowing his head as he enters, doctor hojo behind him. takatora watches as he greets parad, and then, with a hesitance that takatora hates to be the reason for, stands at his bedside, hands deep in his jacket pockets.

wearing a small but sincere smile on his face, kouta says, "hey."

something unravels in takatora's chest at the simple greeting, at the way kouta looks at him and not at the bandage peeking from under his sleeve, and makes it easier to reply.

"... hello, kouta." 

it's only two words, but the way they light up kouta's eyes - no trace of godly gold or red, only the same shade of brown takatora has woken up to for the past few months - almost makes takatora look away. he doesn't, but he keeps his hands to himself, despite how kouta glances at them in askance.

a moment passes. no one seems inclined to break the silence, and after minimal consideration, takatora resolves to do it himself.

"did you call mitsuzane?"

"yeah, the nurse did. before that, though, takatora - can we talk?"

...of course, kouta would want the difficult conversation first. takatora has no intention to delay it either, so he nods, setting aside his perfunctory question and straightening up, acutely aware of the uneven set of his shoulders and powerless to do anything about it without drawing attention to his injury.

"we'll just, give you two some privacy, then--" doctor hojo starts to usher himself and parad out, but takatora holds up a hand to stop them. "that won't be necessary," he says, just as kouta kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the bed, settling himself in the space takatora made for him. 

"i know what it's gonna look like, but it's fine, we do this a lot," kouta explains over his shoulder as twin expressions of confusion come over doctor hojo and parad's faces. 

"rest assured, doctor hojo, i give my full consent." takatora waits until he nods in understanding, before turning to kouta. "shall we?"

kouta stares at him wordlessly, lips pressed into a thin line. he nods, and reaches out for takatora's hand; he's warm, but trembling, so takatora acts without thinking and threads their fingers together so their hands are palm to palm. 

it's enough to stay the tremors, and kouta gives him a grateful smile before asking, "will you close your eyes for me?"

it's unnecessary, but the gesture isn't lost on takatora. instead of answering - his throat had closed up at the feeling of kouta squeezing their hands together - takatora does as he's asked, and relaxes against his pillows. 

he feels the pull of the waves and the haze of the sun, but instead of submitting to them, he tightens his grip on kouta, and calls to mind a different dreamscape. 

  
  
  


when kouta opens his eyes, they're standing in front of the wall again. though, it's different this time - the faces are static and unmarred, and there's the impression that there's less of them, with the missing person's notices spread out with space to spare between them. this wall feels more like a memory, something kouta has seen in his periphery and left there. 

takatora, too, is different: he holds his right arm stiffly, and his suit jacket is slung over his left shoulder, imprecise and rumpled. he looks tired. kouta wants, so badly, to ask him to rest, but the words won't come. he's afraid of what he might say here, in this place he only remembers as a backdrop to a fit of yelling and hurt. 

when takatora steps closer to the wall, kouta holds his breath and does his best to focus on him instead of the echoes of his own screams in his ears. 

"if i apologize right now, that would be a misstep, wouldn't it?" takatora's voice is steady and free of distortions. it eases part of his worries, somewhat.

still, kouta swallows hard and stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets. "i mean. i don't want another reason to fight?" he's sure the forced sleep is one, and that's already one too many. "mostly i want to... ask how you're feeling, and apologize."

"as i recall, you're the one i punched not too long ago."

"yeah, but you got _shot_." kouta knows what his voice sounds like, choked with tears he thought he'd worked out. they're of no help right now, and this isn't their dreamy stretch of sand and sea - kouta doesn't want anything to be unclear, so he continues, "i was scared and i, i'm sorry about what i did."

"you were acting on my best interests." now, the steadiness of takatora's voice sounds like passive scolding. kouta steels himself against the urge to lash out.

"i didn't give you a choice."

from where he stands, the lines of takatora's shoulders are uneven and aching, a sight that turns his stomach into so much writhing vines. he doesn't want to be here, behind takatora, with their gazes fixed on wildly different things.

it takes no more than a handful of steps to stand beside takatora, whose dejected frown begs kouta to _do_ something, anything to erase it.

to his surprise, takatora reaches for him first - with his right hand he grabs at kouta's sleeve, and without a pause kouta moves to clasp their hands together. it feels like a lifetime since he'd touched takatora like this, and the raw relief of _being allowed to_ pushes words out of his mouth in a desperate, pained rush. 

"i'm sorry, takatora, for putting you to sleep like that, for yelling when i should have been waking you up from that nightmare… i was scared." kouta bites his lip and squeezes his hand around takatora's; he feels takatora squeeze back and he forces back a sob. "i was so _scared_. of a bullet, of what that woman said to make you look so lost… of losing you to either of them."

what use is godhood, in the grander scheme of things? what is the point of it, when kouta has never felt smaller or weaker in his life as an omnipotent existence than when he'd thrown the curtains open to see takatora with a bandage around his arm and eyes that looked right through him? 

with their linked hands, kouta knows takatora is getting the brunt of his disjointed thoughts - but, they've kept each other out long enough. takatora needs to know what kouta feels about him, even painful things like these. 

and he wants to know what takatora feels, even the things he can't name. 

"it wouldn't have been their fault," takatora says, careful and quiet in the air of the dreamscape that hasn't moved since they'd gotten here. kouta himself feels frozen, but he _listens_ , to takatora's words and the thoughts and feelings that travel through their bond. 

"they're angry and hurting. they lost the people they love because of my mistakes, they have every right to their anger and however they want to show it. i've known how they feel for a while now, and today, i was careless."

in moments of stress, takatora falls into his habit of using more words than he should. he speaks like he's building a barrier between his feelings and whoever's listening, a last-ditch effort to protect them and himself. kouta's heart aches for him, and suddenly their intertwined hands aren't enough. 

"can i hold you?" he asks, just as careful and quiet as takatora had been. "please tell me, if i can. if you want me to."

there's a world of difference between the two. the "yes" that takatora says makes kouta give up on trying not to cry, but it's the _i want you to_ that comes through their bond that sends kouta moving, pulling takatora to him and fitting them together like it would kill him if they were apart.

"i'm sorry for worrying you," takatora says against his shoulder, muffled and breathless. his arms come around kouta's back, and he thinks, as he clutches helplessly at kouta, _i don't know how else to help them_.

kouta doesn't trust his own voice, not when it hurts to even breathe in between the tears, so he answers the same way, holding takatora as close as he can and sharing his thoughts without fear. 

_you're doing plenty already. you're doing everything you can, takatora. you changed yourself and you're trying to do the right thing, you're doing your best to help people,_

_but that doesn't mean you should let yourself get hurt for it._

kouta feels the question before it even fully forms in takatora's thoughts. he draws back just enough to meet takatora's eyes - damp with tears but focused on him - and says, "if they hurt you for trying to make amends, they aren't looking for atonement. they want punishment, they want your suffering, and despite what they lost they can't have that."

takatora raises a hand to cover the one kouta has rested against his cheek; the shape of his mouth and the furrow between his brows say that he's about to argue, but kouta goes on, the importance of what he wants to say steadying his voice. 

"you aren't helping anyone when you let them hurt you, takatora. and you can't help anyone if you're hurt."

it's logic from the heart, from kouta's boundless affection and his respect for what takatora wants to do. takatora sighs as he lets the words go uncontested. he knows they're true, the slump of his shoulders say. when kouta pulls him close again, he says, _i know you do, but we all need reminding, sometimes_.

if kouta stands on the tips of his toes, he can press a kiss to the corner of takatora's mouth. he wants to do more, wants to make it clear with all that he can how much takatora means to him - but for now, this, and the way they trade _i'm sorry_ and _i forgive you_ when takatora leans down to touch his lips to his cheeks, is enough to convey his feelings, and put the world under kouta's feet to rights again.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

the digital clock at takatora's bedside says it's four in the morning. for all of five minutes, he stares at it with bleary eyes and wonders why his right arm feels stiff and tight, and why kouta isn't burrowed against his side or draped over him like a starfish and is instead using his lap as a pillow. 

it doesn't take long, and when the events of the previous day slot back into focus, takatora bites back a groan and rubs at his forehead with his free hand. the other is still grasping kouta's, and takatora guesses they'd returned late enough that there'd been no one around to good-naturedly usher him to a proper sleeping spot. 

still, as uncomfortable as it seems, kouta doesn't look bothered. his face is free of frowns or wrinkled brows, and when takatora squeezes their linked hands, the corner of his mouth twitches, and he smiles. 

it's enough, for now, takatora thinks. 

settled by the thought, he leans back against his pillows, making a note to thank whoever left his phone within reach come a sensible hour in the morning. 

before he checks on his emails, takatora swipes through to his messaging app and has to suppress a sigh as he sees his conversations with oren, akira, and, surprisingly, peko lit up with unread messages. he thinks about replying to them while he can, anticipating the length of the second difficult (but entirely doable and necessary) conversation he'll be having in the morning, but just as he decides to tackle peko's message first ( _we'll make sure micchy eats first before going to pick you up!!_ ), kouta stirs, patting his thigh with his unoccupied hand.

"s'early… sleep more." he doesn't open his eyes, only nuzzles closer, and takatora can't help but set aside his phone to brush kouta's hair from his face. "in a minute," he answers quietly. 

"i'll wake up," kouta slurs in reply. a ridiculous threat, but not a baseless one, takatora knows. swiftly outmaneuvered, takatora murmurs back his compliance, before shifting closer to the edge of the bed and allowing kouta more of his lap to rest on. 

deeming them both as comfortable as they can be, takatora returns his phone to the side table and settles in, resting his left hand on kouta's head as he closes his eyes.

  
  
  


unnoticed in a visitor's seat out of view of the bed, parad watches takatora fall back asleep before returning to his game, dutifully on silent mode. he sends a message to lazer - [zangetsu woke up a little but they're both asleep again] - and gets an impression of emu hugging a mighty plushy in his sleep as thanks. 

[maybe i wont have to throw down with god after all], lazer muses. parad can feel his restlessness ebbing away even with the distance from the apartment and the hospital between them. despite thinking that it might have been interesting, parad agrees. besides --

[zangetsu wouldn't let you, anyway.] 

[they're friends, yeah, but even if sometimes friends have correct opinions about throw downs, _sometimes_ they can be ignored.] even 'on the wire', lazer is chatty. parad wrinkles his nose and equips new armor for his next match before replying.

[even if that were true, you still won't be allowed. go get your treatment plan ready.]

whatever lazer says next, parad doesn't hear - he has a boss fight to win and a pair of lovebirds to discreetly watch over. 

  
  
  


kiriya isn't kureshima's first visitor of the day (the honor goes to mitsuba, who comes out of the room with a small bag of oranges and a bemused smile), but he's the only one who thinks about what a workaholic with a non-fatal injury would want first thing in the morning, so he prides himself in the way kureshima immediately zooms in on the can of georgia coffee he waves in greeting.

"good morning, kureshima-san, how's it going?" kiriya sits himself opposite of where emu is checking on the bandage, and passes over the open can with a smile. takatora accepts it with a murmured thanks, halves it in three gulps, and completely ignores the way kiriya is holding back a laugh at his antics.

"according to doctor hojo, well enough."

"his brother is getting his discharge papers done with kouta," emu says, securing the new bandage around kureshima's arm. 

"awesome, great, but you might wanna sit still for a bit because i have questions for you." kiriya waves a pair of folders to illustrate, and though emu purses his lips and says his name with a warning in his tone, kureshima just nods. 

"if this is about what a mess i am, i'm already intimately familiar with the evidence, so if you could cut to the chase…?"

 _way to steal my thunder_ , kiriya thinks with immeasurable fondness and a near-euphoric sense of relief. _one_ god had rights, apparently, if this is what becomes of his late night dream-conversations with his second. 

"if you wanted it quick you should have _said_ , i've got a whole presentation lined up!"

"kiriya-san." emu isn't quite frowning, but he's on his way. kiriya shoots him a grin, unwittingly expediting the expression.

"here i was thinking you were known for your speed," kureshima cuts in drily, and kiriya _feels_ the exasperation coming off in waves from emu as he rolls his eyes, "please don't humor him."

as one, kiriya and kureshima chorus, "too late for that."

they blink. kiriya feels a smile breaking his face. kureshima redirects his attention to his coffee. somewhere in the background, parad muses aloud, "looks like lazer made a friend."

to kiriya's credit, after kureshima finishes his coffee and favors them all with an all-important raised eyebrow of _well, let's get on with it_ , they _do_ have a productive half hour talking about his new and improved reason to see a medical professional on a regular basis. 

it involves less pointing and repeating (and therefore is less frustrating on the whole), and more maneuvering schedules, determining who should be involved and informed, and getting assurance that the doctors in zawame aren't entirely under kureshima's thumb and also willing to find a plan that suits him. kureshima actually commends kiriya for how thoroughly he's outlined the whole approach, and for this, kiriya can't take all the credit.

"call it trickle down therapy, i hang out with the experts a lot in between doing my gig for saving mankind." which is very much a dig at kureshima, no question about it. emu, who'd been taking notes for them and looking up the relevant contact details, snorts at kiriya's impeccable delivery - he glances at kureshima afterwards, possibly scrambling for an apology, but the face kureshima is wearing stops him abruptly.

"how lucky am i, then, to witness that wisdom," kureshima says, smiling. kiriya was right - he _does_ have a nice smile, when he's not contemplating the morality of life and sacrifice.

"receive the blessings of god with gratitude, or something." 

" _kiriya-san._ "

"a bit hammier, lazer."

" _parad_."

they make plans to talk more over the phone (kiriya keeps his screen-travel abilities a secret; kureshima could use a fun surprise, he reckons), and then emu gets his turn, detailing home-care for his injury and ending it with a pleasant threat involving god and mercenaries. kureshima, smartly, takes him seriously; kiriya is always a little bit in love with emu, this just bumps up the average feeling to eleven.

by the time kureshima's younger brother - mitsuzane, who resembles his brother only when they're being polite - comes back (with god in tow, because this is kiriya's life), kureshima has his and emu's contacts in his phone, and is dressed and ready to leave. mitsuzane thanks them for looking after his brother - and hands kiriya a small bag of oranges. 

"thanks?"

"for your troubles. nii-san can be a handful when he puts his mind to it," mitsuzane explains, and, okay, maybe they resemble each other for more reasons than kiriya can identify within five minutes of knowing them. there's a chorus of "mitsuzane," and "micchy," from kureshima and kouta, and only one of them sounds scolding. kiriya grins in the face of mitsuzane's calm and unruffled apology, "don't worry about it, i plan on bothering him right back, and soon."

"of course," mitsuzane says mildly, though kiriya can tell he's amused, before turning to take his brother's briefcase and slip his discharge papers in. kouta grabs kureshima's jacket before he can reach for it, and together, they flank kureshima like a pair of harmless but ultimately deadly sentries. kiriya wishes he could take a picture, for how cute it is.

they say their goodbyes and kiriya gets to shake kureshima's hand, and when the door closes behind them, kiriya feels strangely energized.

\--or maybe it's just the static charge parad generates when he appears _right in front of him_.

"hello, lazer, M, i'm here for my compounded rewards."

 _right_. kiriya knew he was forgetting something. stupid new friend and his open willingness to let kiriya talk his mouth off.

  
  
  


micchy sits next to the driver up front and, almost immediately, raises the divider between their side and the passenger seats at the back. "i'll leave him to you, kouta-san," he says, clunky and polite; still, kouta smiles and calls out a thanks, before helping takatora with his seatbelt and securing his own.

as they pull out of the hospital drive way, takatora leans into his seat and sighs. kouta's about to ask if he's that put off by not having his work with him, but then he takes a neck pillow and sets it on his lap. kouta makes a questioning noise, and the corners of takatora's mouth quirk as he asks, "would you like to hear about what doctor kujo and i discussed?"

"huh? oh, yeah! definitely!" kouta snaps off his seatbelt and lays his head on takatora's lap carefully, smiling up at him when he starts to comb his fingers through his hair.

"it'll take a while," takatora says, "i know you have other obligations, but do you want to stay the night?"

kouta hums, considering his choices. really though, there's only one he wants to give.

"i'd love to."


	4. extras

_extra - rewards_

> "hello, lazer, M, i'm here for my compounded rewards."
> 
> _right_. kiriya knew he was forgetting something. stupid new friend and his open willingness to let kiriya talk his mouth off.

  
  


the housekeeping staff shoo them out of kureshima's room post-haste, and normally kiriya appreciates their dedication and work ethic and their patience with him when he forgets how to phase objects (food, usually) with him and ends up making a mess - right now, though, he has an impatient bugster in his hands and emu is being _of no help whatsoever_.

"actually, i get a reward too, right? it's fair." _actually_ , emu is actively being a little shit, too.

the CR is relatively close and, when they arrive after a quick elevator ride, blessedly empty. this means no one is around to witness kiriya getting crowded onto the couch and having his lap be straddled by a grown man and his bugster. the awkward fit is nothing to them, who are practiced professionals at sharing and competing, and kiriya is smart enough to acknowledge that his rewards _are_ long overdue and so does not complain.

"for _not_ starting a fist fight with god," he says, before smacking his lips against emu's with an obnoxiously loud pop. emu laughs, darting in for another kiss before leaning back, as cued by parad's equally obnoxious throat-clearing.

kiriya holds up three fingers - "that's one for letting me talk kureshima up, one for coming back at the _exact_ moment i needed you to, and one for doing a good job keeping him company."

parad nods, offering his cheek like he'd done the day before. kiriya dutifully bestows his rewards on the charming apples of his cheeks - one on each - before planting the last one on parad's smiling mouth. predictably, he gets chased for another one right after, which he's in no position to refuse.

rewards given, parad and emu clamber off kiriya's lap and make themselves comfortable on either side of him, heads cushioned on his shoulder (emu) and his lap (parad). they have about fifteen minutes until poppy arrives or emu gets called in for rounds, and it's a welcome pause from the charged morning they've had.

  
  
  


_extra - seconds_

> "like i said, takatora's stubborn." emu can hardly imagine how he is as a second, with kouta smiling like he does even as he defends and berates him in the same breath. 

  
  


later in the afternoon, emu drops by the nurse's station to talk with mitsuba and complete kureshima's chart. parad is with her, playing what sounds like a rhythm game on her phone. mitsuba smiles when emu slumps down on the counter; like the professional that she is, she's got half of the work done already, unlike emu, whose scraps he's yet to organize.

ten minutes into their quest to make their notes presentable, kiriya arrives with his own report. as one, emu and mitsuba shoot his impeccably written report the dirtiest looks they can muster - but it doesn't last long, as parad cheers and passes mitsuba her phone, happily proclaiming his victory over the outdoor stage.

also, kiriya is perfectly willing to sit down with them and figure out their report, and being cross with him wouldn't help.

"how do we even describe kazuraba-san's involvement?" mitsuba asks, a few minutes later. emu and kiriya grimace in tandem as they consider the question.

"there should be something for the involvement of colleagues…" 

"if we're identifying the bureau as the organization, he doesn't really _work_ there, emu."

"er, mm, how does 'secondary rider' even translate though…"

mitsuba shakes her head, "i can't believe you guys even have a word for that. why not just say 'partner'?"

frowning, emu gestures with his hands, "there's a weird, complicated relationship between riders and their seconds, i don't think it's exactly the same for everybody."

"it's definitely not the same for those two," kiriya adds, "i may like kureshima like nobody's business but. _heck_. what is even _up_ with them?"

parad, who's been openly staring at mitsuba's computer now that she's charging her phone, suddenly comments, "zangetsu isn't gaim's second."

a pause. and then, three voices echo, "what."

parad repeats himself, verbatim, before noticing that the rest of the occupants of the desk haven't stopped staring at him. he blinks, then gestures with his hands, bringing his pointer fingers together, side by side. "they're like this."

"so, 'partners'?" mitsuba confirms, somewhat hesitantly. emu tilts his head for a few moments before suddenly sitting up, wide-eyed and mouth agape. "oh, they're…"

feeling left out of the loop, kiriya glances around. "ace? mitsuba? am i missing something here?"

"like this," parad repeats patiently, before giving up and flashing an emoji above his head: a bright pink heart that sparkles as it spins dreamily in circles.

it takes kiriya a moment. and then --

"... huh. _that_ makes sense, i guess..."

another pause.

"well," mitsuba coughs, neatly shaking off the last few revelatory moments, "i'll put down 'partner', then."

**Author's Note:**

> \- should any mistakes come to light i will. get to them. somehow. wee hours are called wee hours because i scream weeee while i write during them.
> 
> \- i listened to four songs while writing this: firstly, [umi-kun's 26-song vocaloid medley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gpx74cLwB8U) ; the other three were sung by [amatsuki](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKZRL75vTjqbgd0WVdqF3Qg) because of what i am as a person. 
> 
> \- jpn data on medical records confuses me bc of the conflicting statements between sources but for the purposes of this fic and series in general, medical records are available to medical professionals with the patient's consent.
> 
> \- kiriya is my favorite bike.


End file.
